


Détente

by HighVelocity



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Gen, Trespasser DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 09:43:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4914697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HighVelocity/pseuds/HighVelocity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trespasser DLC spoilers. Master Tethras considers the toll of past events on the once-Inquisitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Détente

**Author's Note:**

> There, I've worked out all my Trespasser feels. I think.
> 
> Accompanying song: Riser, by Dance With The Dead.

  
Varric's excuse was simply that as now-Viscount of Kirkwall, he had no time.

But that was a baldfaced lie.

The truth was that he found his memories far too hard to touch, for the longest time, after they carried the Inquisitor - Trevelyan, Ziva Trevelyan, as she later insisted, for she would not carry that title a moment longer - back through the eluvian.

For all the fights he had seen, this would be one of the goriest Varric would ever be part of. No, it was not for the blood they shed, not for the implications they saw, and not for the conclusions they drew after it.

No, it was the moments where he witnessed firsthand what the Anchor was doing to Ziva's body. The moments where she struggled up again after the wracking pain drove her to her knees. The times where all colour leached out of her skin, leaving her lips bloodless and the tattoo stark around her eye, her face a perfect mask. Her eyes burnt gold, fever-bright in her face, pinched around the edges with agony.

In those last few battles, she simply went on, and on, and on, past all endurance, beyond all limit. Her body did not seem to belong to her any longer. Ziva never spoke of it, but it was one of those curious open secrets within their circle. In retrospect, she had been rather clever, letting them talk amongst themselves, picking and choosing who went through into the Crossroads with her each time. Varric would later smile to himself at her way of telling them all what she could, without words.

In the end, Ziva's lithe body had become nothing more than a conduit on the verge of shattering entirely from the force of the rage and the magic, the twisting energy of the Mark coursing through her.

In the end, she was a beast maddened, and then simply broken. Spiritless.

When it was all over, Cullen took her away to heal in some quiet place in Ferelden. A quiet log cabin, perhaps, with their horses and the mabari, but not so far that Ziva could not reach out to them, or to the healers that cared for her after her hand had been so unceremoniously severed.

Later on, in all his retellings, Varric would swear upon all he knew(and most particularly upon Andraste's arse) that when they finally caught up to the Inquisitor, it was the curious shimmering form of a white mare he saw first. Between one breath and the next, it twisted away to reveal Ziva Trevelyan, seemingly lifeless on the pretty green grass.

That mare walked with them through the eluvians, and that mare stood vigil by her bedside, a ghost shining in the firelight, neck arched and ears pricked. It never moved, but simply shimmered in and out of existence with nary a whisk of long tail, nor any stamping of feathered hoof. A true spirit or simply his fancy? Varric was never sure, but there was a particular romance in thinking of it as the power of her blood and lineage given form, to watch over one of the greatest of its daughters.

\---

"Well, the charm worked, didn't it, Curly?"

"Charm - oh. I... I suppose it did."

"Yep."

Varric crossed his arms over his barrel chest, while Cullen rested his weight against the fencepost, watching Ziva trail behind their mabari. Dog they'd named it, and although it certainly had its own name, Dog it remained. It bounded around Ziva in a lively circle, then nudged under her hand to be petted, heeling obediently as Ziva spoke a command.

She looked better, finally. Her long auburn hair was no longer caught up in any variety of tight bun or plait, but left to tumble carelessly over her shoulders. She was still far too thin, but the billowy, loose dresses she favoured now masked that somewhat, conveniently hiding her missing hand, too.

"That's what it seemed like, at first. Seeker and me, but Sparkler instead of Solas. She does love that Tevinter mage."

Cullen tipped his head to the dwarf, not missing the significance of Varric using the elf's name instead of the affectionate nicknames he gave everyone.

"I do recall. You worked together a lot, in the early days."

"Sure did." Varric kicked absently at a stray pebble, watching Ziva make her way back to them. "Felt like she wanted to take us full circle, you know? Like she was making a charm of her own, make it somehow possible that she - that all of us - would make it back safe and sound."

Cullen blinked at that, then smiled. "Looks like it worked, then."

Varric nodded again, grinning wide. Across the green expanse of the field, with Dog by her side, Ziva raised a hand, hailing them. Cullen waved back to her.

And behind her, the shimmering form of a white mare walked with gently bobbing head and pricked ears for a few paces, before vanishing into the sun.

Cullen caught his breath, though whether it was for his wife or the spectral horse, Varric did not know. And he did not ask.

"Yep, sure worked a treat."


End file.
